OK. I'll be honest. I'm typing this literally five minutes after I've gotten in from what can only be described as a fantastic and fanatical send off. Maybe not fanatical but fuck it, it sounds good. What I'm trying to drive at is that I am not sober. I wouldn't say I'm hammered, but drunk couldn't cover it.
I'm talky. Let's put it that way.
I've been listening to Arcade Fire's new album a lot recently. Technically that statement is true, yet a fairer description would be that I have been listening to Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains) a lot. If you haven't heard it then do it now. It's like Kate Bush and The Knife made a musical baby and taught it to say 'Fuck you!' to the suburbs. I mention this because that song resonates with me. I don't know why, I have no reason to say 'Fuck you!' to the suburbs (Elburton is a pretty nice place to grow up - I should know, I grew up there), but even so, that song is catnip to me.
That sense of legging it from your past, the underlying desperation with the situation, just wanting something else. That song has it. And a pretty nice synth part. I don't feel those things, I don't want to leg it or feel a desperate need to get out, but maybe I should. I dunno, is that what's missing?
'Cos really, all night, all week, fuck, all year even, people have been saying that I will love this experience. Asking if I'm nervous. Asking me what I'm feeling.
The truth of the matter is that it's not yet really registered. Don't mistake me, it's unavoidable. Mum has been breaking her back to get me to this point, and will no doubt break it further to make sure I stay out in Houston. That said, I - me, this chap right here with the glasses, strangely gay hair cut, and lack of fashion sense, me! - don't feel it. It hasn't sunk in.:
Maybe it will when I get on the plane. Maybe when we leave for Heathrow. Maybe when I go to the pub on Monday. Maybe it'll never sink in.
Fucknuts, this is quite the stream on consciousness, isn't it? I had a point when I wanted to write this. Hang on it might come.
So, yeah, not sunk in. I dunno what I was expecting from this evening, but I know I got one thing from it, and it's this: I can legitimately call my friends some of the best people in the world.
They didn't have to make that effort. They were tired, they have work, they were working minutes before they came out. Fuck, two of them had no cash, found a way to our group and felt bad that they didn't get to see me for long enough. What the fuck? How did I get to a point where those people would feel duty bound to wave me off?
Fuck.
Just, fuck.
So, yeah. I say that a lot. While the 'going to Texas' part hasn't really hit me, the fact that I will be leaving behind some of the most - and I really can't think of any other word for this - beautiful people in my life, has.
To them I say thanks.
Fuck, that was emotional, wasn't it? I'll just keep the luvvie crap to a minimum in future. I really need to sleep. It's not healthy this lark.
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